the girl quietly but so confidently that Alex stopped in his tracks.
"Why?"
"Because you won't..."
"Bother her!" thought Alex. "I'll go down and have a look."
"Stop, Alex," said the little girl.
"Why, do you know me?" he asked in surprise.
"A bit," she replied craftily.
It was all so baffling. He felt disturbed and yet hopeful... So he
went up to her and said, "Look... Perhaps you know where I should look
for the ship?"
"Nope," she answered, looking gravely at him, thought for a moment
and then added suddenly, "No, I don't. But I'll help you find out."
Alex smirked and asked doubtfully, "Are you a witch, then?"
"Sort of," she replied without smile.
"All right, help me then," said Alex with a hint of irony.
"Go to the corner of May 1st and Garden Street and you'll come across
an information office..."
"There's a shoe repairs booth there, that's all," interrupted Alex.
"Stop having me on."
The little girl did not take offence.
"Just listen to me. It all depends. For some it's a shoe repairs
booth and for others, an information office. There's an old man working
there who knows all there is to know in the world."
"How come you know about this old man?"
"He's my Granddad."
"And he's a wizard, too, of course?" asked Alex rather sarcastically.
"Of course," said the little girl earnestly. "Only he doesn't like it
when people bother him with questions. You've got to know how to approach
him. So go up to the booth and just stand there for a while and then say
as if to yourself something like, 'I wonder where I could get hold of a
magic carpet?' And if Granddad's in a good mood, he'll tell you."
"And what if he isn't?"
"Don't worry, he's feeling fine today."
"Mmm... I see..." said Alex. "But why have you suddenly decided to
help me?"
The tips of the little girl's ears turned bright pink but she
continued to stare gravely at him.
"Because you're handsome and brave," she said quietly.
"Who? Me?!" asked Alex in astonishment.
"Yes, you of course. You weren't even scared to climb all that way up
to rescue Kuzya. Look how scratched you've got but that didn't stop you."
"Oh, come on," mumbled Alex. "Why are you poking fun at me?"
"I'm not," said the little girl, and then clutched Kuzya against her
cotton frock and ran off.
"Well, I suppose you could just about say I was brave," thought Alex.
"But as for being handsome... Fancy making up a thing like that!" Then he
remembered the little girl's truthful eyes and believed her, that is,
believed what she had said about the information bureau and her
grandfather and decided to try it out.
Knocked together out of plywood, the booth was squat and
flimsy-looking. It was a wonder it had not been blown away by the
previous night's storm. Its door was open and so Alex walked in.
Sitting in a corner, which was partitioned off by a wide board
serving as a counter, was a gaunt old man in a black beret with a little
tip, with a pair spectacles perched on his bulbous nose and grey stubble
on his cheeks. He was hammering a boot on a thin iron shoe-tree in front
of him and muttering quietly to himself.
"Hello..." said Alex bashfully.
The old man did not reply.
"Oh well, he must be in a huff," thought Alex and began looking
round. The walls of the booth were lined with ordinary-looking shelves
of wooden lasts and shoes and pested with colour pictures which had been
cut out of magazines and an old calendar. A crooked wall clock with a
large rusty padlock instead of weight was ticking away in a corner.
Gazing at this padlock, Alex said absent-mindedly, "I wonder if it's
possible to find the little ship now that it's been swept away by the
stream goodness knows where?"
Alex heard the old man stop tapping the boot and chuckle quietly, "Is
the little ship yours, then?"
Alex became confused. Of course, the clipper wasn't his but then
Sofia Alexandrovna had wanted to give it to him as a present...
"Yes... almost," said Alex and looked askance at the old man who did
not seem angry and even smiled.
"Almost?" he asked.
"He knows everything," thought Alex and felt very awkward.
"Well... not quite," he began explaining. "But, you see, it doesn't
belong to anyone now that it's been abandoned... According to maritime
law, even a real ship that's been abandoned, becomes the property of the
person who finds it."
The old man cackled with laughter.
"My, you old sea-dog. A real admiral, you are... But how come you've
decided to ask me about something like this? Who put you up to it?
"Your Granddaughter," said Alex reluctantly.
"I see... Well, did you catch her eye, then, Alex?"
"Really! Whatever next!" exclaimed Alex and felt himself blushing.
"Now, now, don't get excited," smirked the old man and then added,
"The little ship can be found but you'll have to travel a long way... It
was swept away by a stream, you say? All streams run into rives and all
rivers flow into the sea. And on the shore of the bluest sea stands the
town of Vetrogorsk. And this town has a Museum of Wonderful Sea
Discoveries and Ships, otherwise known simply as the Ship Museum. Now,
the Museum's Curator has a lot to do but what he likes best is collecting
models of ships. And he's so good at it and so fond of little ships that
he has a simply amazing knack of not missing a single model. He attracts
them like a magnet, and no matter where a little ship has got lost and no
matter where it has been swept to by the waves, it is bound to land up in
Vetrogorsk sooner or later. It's as if little ships have a special
instinct guiding them, rather like migratory birds. For instance, some
little boys lost their model brigantine yesterday and today you'll find
the Curator's already got it in his Museum... Go and search for it if you
like but you'll have to travel far."
"It's just like a fairy-tale," said Alex.
"But of course!" the old man replied eagerly. "That's just what it
is."
"A real one?"
"Well, that I can't tell you..." replied the old man, looking
attentively and even sternly at him. "I don't know, Alex. That depends
on you. See for yourself."
"But... what am I to see? What's meant to happen?"
"Well, just you remember this, Alex. All real fairy-tales are about
someone looking for someone else. Little Ivanushka was searching for his
sister Alyonushka, Tsarevich Ivan for Maria Morevna and the little
Star-Child for his mother who had been carried away by the evil wizard."
"That's true. And in the 'Snow Queen' Gerda was searching for Kai."
"Yes, and the Prince for Cinderella."
Alex did not like being reminded of the prince and so angrily decided
to object: "But not all tales are like that. Some heroes are looking for
the feather of a fire-bird or something or other. And not all princes are
the same either..."
"That's true... But why a feather of a fire-bird? They aren't getting
it for themselves, you know, but so as to save their beloved from
destruction or find a good friend."
"But, you know, I'm not searching for the little ship for myself
either," said Alex in a slightly offended tone. "I want to give it... to
a good friend... Well, I mean, she most likely doesn't know that I'm her
real friend yet but I very much want to be friends with her."
"But can't you be without the little ship?"
"Of course we can! Do you think I want to buy her friendship with a
little ship? No, simply it's her birthday and the clipper would make
the very best present for her! Do you know how happy she'll be!"
Well, if she'll be happy, that's fine," said the old man pensively
and added solemnly, "Joy is a very important thing for us... Well, have a
go, Alex, since you've made up your mind to. I'll give you some advice."
"Thank you!"
"You say that at the end of the tale, Alex. Now just listen. You need
a ticket to Vetrogorsk..."
"Right!"
"So go along to the Travel Agency where you can get tickets for
trains, planes, buses, flying carp... well, I mean, tickets of all
kinds."
"You mean, in May 1st Street?"
"No, there's another one in Polar Captains's Street."
Alex had never heard of that street before.
"Where exactly is it?"
Why, don't you know?" asked the old man slyly. "Listen, you go all
the way along Garden Street until you come to an old stadium..."
"Oh, I know! Last winter we played a war game there."
"That's right. But don't go past it. Find the gap in its fence, go
straight through it and keep going when you've crossed the stadium, crawl
through another gap and you'll come out in Polar Captain's Street.
You'll find the agency at Number Twenty-Two on the left-hand side...
Well, off you go."
"Thank you!"
"There's no need to thank me yet. And one more thing. If you
encounter something dangerous, strange or puzzling, say, on your way,
don't try and avoid it because it's all part of the fairy-tale. Well, and
don't forget the most important thing and put your best foot forward."
"Right, I'll be off."
"Go, Alex, and try not to let anything amaze you"
Chapter Five
Alex at once believed that he was entering a fairy-tale world. You
see, he was a poet, no matter how small, and all poets, great and small,
in their heart of hearts believe in fairy-tales.
But the street he was going down was very ordinary. And so were the
buses rolling past, and the people coming towards him, and the
watering-machine trundling along and spraying everyone in its path. And
so was the way passers-by hurled abuse after it. And so was the stadium's
old fence made of rough grey planks.
One plank had been ripped out. Alex crawled through the gap (and
there was nothing out of the ordinary about that either), and found his
way under the wooden stands and onto the field.
The old stadium had not been used for a long time and its field was
overgrown with tall grass.
White, bay and black horses were grazing on it a long way off but as
soon as Alex stepped onto the grass, they all raised their heads as if by
a signal, and stared in his direction. Alex even felt alarmed and slowed
down. Then a golden chestnut with a beautiful proud head and kind eyes
came cautiously towards him, stopped three feet away, and gazed
inquiringly, and somewhat sadly at him. And he understood her. No, he did
not hear her but understood her when she asked, "Please excuse me but
aren't you the boy who's looking for a horse to gallop to the Magic
Kingdom?"
"Gosh! This is it," thought Alex with a tremor of excitement but said
aloud, "No. I've got to go somewhere else."
"I'm sorry," sighed the horse and slowly walked away.
The other horses looked expectantly at her and then began cropping
the grass again.
A fragile and tinkling silence concealing secrets reigned over the
stadium. There were also a great many grasshoppers chirping and hopping
this way and that at every step Alex made through the silky grass.
He crossed the field, found a hole in the fence and came out into
Polar Captains' Street - a quiet, ordinary-looking street with old one-
and two-storey houses.
Also old, Number Twenty-Two had most likely been built by a merchant
in the last century. The upper floor had been his living quarters and the
lower one a shop.
On the balcony's cast-iron railing over the front door Alex caught
sight of a long blue sign with "Travel Agency" painted on it.
The ground-floor windows were decorated with colourful Aeroflot
posters and the model of an IL-62 jet was hanging from a nylon cord.
Alex heaved the heavy door open with his shoulder.
The Agency was ordinary-looking and empty inside. A large fan
whirring lazily under the ceiling. The walls were lined with railway and
air timetables. There was also a no-smoking sign and a notice about
various excursions written in red crayon. Alex looked closer and a chill
ran up his spine:
"APPLICATIONS FOR EXCURSIONS
ON MAGIC CARPETS
WILL NOT BE ACCEPTED
UNTIL AUGUST 15
THE MANAGEMENT."
A high partition with small windows ran along the far wall. All the
windows were closed except for one, marked number two, which was slightly
open. Alex went up, sighed, plucked up courage, and then tapped.
The window flew open and a cashier's head appeared.
Alex felt even more scared because the cashier looked very like his
geography teacher, Klavdia Mikhailovna. She had the same smooth grey
hair, stern glasses and alert eyes. Whenever anyone with eyes like hers
looked at Alex he felt completely transparent.
"What can I do for you?" asked the cashier.
"I'm sorry but... I was told I could buy a ticket to Vetrogorsk
here."
The cashier's eye-brows rose slightly.
"Yes, you can... But I'm curious to know who told you about it?"
"There's an information bureau or rather a booth - it's not really an
information bureau. I was told by an old man who works there..."
The cashier's eyes grew kinder.
"I see. An old man. So, you've got some important business in
Vetrogorsk, have you?"
"Rather!"
"Right. You're lucky, there's one ticket left on today's train.
You'd better hurry because it leaves in thirty-five minutes' time."
"And how much does it cost?" asked Alex, recollecting suddenly that
his mother had left him only five rubles as pocket money. What if it was
not enough?
"Four rubles and ninety kopecks. That's just for a seat. You'll have
to make do without a berth."
Alex nodded joyfully and slipped his hand into his pocket for the
money.
But there wasn't any. Worse still, there wasn't even a pocket where
there usually was one. Then he realised he had changed clothes the
evening before and left his money in his old trousers.
"What's wrong? You look so..."
"I've forgotten my money," said Alex in a whisper. "Now I can't
possibly make it."
The cashier also became upset.
"My, what scatter-brains all you boys are. And you're so messy and
undisciplined! When will there be an end to it?"
Alex went on standing silently by the window although there was no
longer any point in him doing so.
"Well, what am I to do with you now?" asked the cashier.
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